The Dying Star
by NineStoicCrayolas
Summary: She was born on a spring night in May. They called her reckless and crazy and a little insane but she knew they loved her anyways. OC/Self-Insert, if you haven't guessed already.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

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She died somewhere dirty.

This is what she knows when she reaches…it.

She died somewhere dirty with sticky needles and the crying of lost souls around the corner. She died when the sun began to scale down the sky, intent on getting a lost night's sleep. She died when the person next to her loosened his hold on the dingy mattress, the breath escaping his body with a bit of his soul.

She wouldn't tell you how she died. It was a crude thing, filled with vulgar memories and dirtied words and so she kept quiet, not wanting to raise her voice to the void and call out to something unseen, something unknown, something…that did not make quite sense.

What she could tell you though, was that dying was singlehandedly the most personal and impersonal experience at the same time. It was intense, nearly beyond comprehension, and it was the type of pressure and stress that had one doing the utmost to avoid it, to even duck it ever again.

Maybe it was foolish of her, not to speak about it. Maybe it was selfish and cruel but she did not want to talk about it. It was a dark part of her existence that she would rather forget, would rather bury under years of false smiles and ice-warm eyes. It was a place that she didn't want to go back to and explain with trembling fingers and a transparent mouth.

And she tells herself that all she knows is she died somewhere dirty.

 _(It isn't—she remembers the screaming, the pain, the burning of her skin, the smell of charred fingers and a burned throat—she remembers the sting of the fire and how they stood over her, pouring and pouring and pouring until she—)_

At first it was peaceful.

There was no screaming or crying or moaning. There are no hushed prayers under filthy blankets and bloodied ties. There she stood or walked or slumped or sat she did not know. But there she was in the middle of the Void. The Chasm.

Until.

Until there was something in the darkness.

It was nonexistent at first, just small tugging, a little cajoling—come this way, they whispered—and then it pulled and pulled and pulled at her some more until her head was thrown back and her mouth was opening in a scream. It tugged and coiled around something inside of her—something in her stomach—and she bellowed into the chasm.

The _chasm_.

It is empty and yet full now.

She scrambled at something. She desperately needed to get back inside whatever it was the chasm was. She needed the peace and the quiet and the release of the dark, static blackness that overwhelmed her and held her—kept her—in a warm, still room with nothing in it.

She slammed into something—something physical and warm and _screaming_ —and it was awful, awful, awful, _awful._ It was warm, like melting jello and childhood dreams and it moved. Something contracted around her and the noise became deafening.

It was an opera of different sounds, a cacophony of screams and bellowing and behind that, the slow push and pull of warm, encouraging voices that came from different women.

It smelled like blood and human feces and piss.

Her skin felt like water, like warm rippling water with the consistency of jello and it was _horrible._ Someone grabbed what she thought was her toe and she opened her mouth and wailed.

At the sound of cooing she nearly choked on what now was her tongue.

She had been reborn.

As a baby.

She was a _baby_.

As arms came around her, encircling her tiny useless form, she scrunched up her face and in earnest, began to sob and scream and fuss.

On a young spring night in May, little Vulpecula Black, the youngest of the four sisters was born.

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Tell me what you think! If I should continue? This is not a fixer-upper btw. This is just my own thing that I'm doing 'cos I can.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

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Vulpecula Cassiopeia Black was a strange baby.

Her sisters thought it. Her parents thought it.

Even the house elves thought it.

Vulpecula was a strange baby because she cried every time anyone left her alone yet even before that, she barely ever woke. The first six months of her life were spent crying, shitting or sleeping. Her mood had suffered much and even her mother—the softer gray gollop of person that picked her up every now and then—would fuss over her, often hissing out incomprehensible things that made no sense to her yet.

 _(She learnt that the chasm was gone and instead there was this. This life with the strange noises and the harsh thing in the air that burnt her skin and scorched her eyes whenever she concentrated too hard. She was bare and too alive, too living and she hated it. She wanted to crawl back into her chasm, into the Void and curl into the warm, unassuming mass of things and never reappear.)_

Her garbled shrieks and sobs filled the rooms of the mansion and the only thing that seemed to calm her down was the touch of Druella. The baby would screech and bellow until her mother kept her head to her breast, soothing the child with a thumb over her curly hair, her lips brushing the crown of her head.

( _She bore an uncanny resemblance to her first mother. The amber eyes, the curling blonde hair, her rosebud lips—it helped feel closer to her. She was confused, angry—lost. Why, why, why—she didn't want it—she didn't want to be here—she screamed and bellowed and sobbed, her tiny frame incapable of understanding how, why, what, when she was brought back—for what—for what—for_ _ **this**_ **—** _she would scream and scream and scream until—Mother please hold me!)_

At nine months she began crawling, her curious eyes beginning to open, garbled speech lisping from her tiny rosebud mouth. Her tiny, grubby fingers grasped the robes of surprised house elves and she gave them gummy smiles despite the tears in her eyes. They, in turn, would squeal over the new black scion, speaking of her wonderful black hair and those strange, strange Rosier-gold eyes that were so pale they looked transparent.

"She's calmed down now that she can crawl." Druella would tell her friends, the worry still rampant in her chest as she remembered the cries of her infant daughter during the night. "She's a Black," _And a Rosier, they all knew it with those eyes,_ "And she will be perfect."

The lies taste sweet on Druella's tongue.

Cygnus doesn't acknowledge his screaming daughter until she's bellowing in the night and it's his turn to pick her up and coax her back to sleep. But it's like she knows— _and she does, she does, she does_ —that they do not _link, connect_ like she does with Druella and her screams go on until her mother drags herself out of bed, her husband crabby and furious, that the screams and sobs quiet down.

 _(When she's able to move again, she is happier. Her eyesight clears up and her breath evens out, the panic in her breast beginning to abate. She is okay. She is okay. She is…alive. She is alive. She focuses on the way that the light hit her sisters' hair and tried again.)_

It was when she was twelve months old that she finally spoke. The sobbing, much to the relief of the household, had calmed down and now the baby only cried in the eve of the morning, just as they were supposed to wake. Druella had calmed down after the healers at St. Mungo's had promised her that it was _just colic, not to worry_ , and in turn, so had little Vulpecula. She was still a strange baby, now all too quiet and engaged, those strange, pale amber eyes locking onto whomever came into the room with an intensity that made grown men cower in their shoes.

Her sisters were still uneasy around the child, as if sensing that she was…different and unknown. But they loved her—Andromeda would whisper love songs to her as she slept, Bellatrix would gaze down at the sleeping babe, her eyes curious, and let her fingers trace the soft, soft, soft curve of her cheek. Narcissa would read out Grimm Fairytales, her tone jovial and kind as she delighted in having a baby sister—and she became something, some _one_ , that was _theirs._

( _It is then that she realizes she has a choice—does she continue as a grown, dead woman or a child?—does she let her old life leave her in a flurry of despised memories and vulgar images or does she hold on and bring the knowledge with her? It is the dead of the night, Druella sleeping next to her, a house-elf laying a heavy blanket over her prone form that she decides to begin anew. She is a Black now. She is a baby now. What was once before was no longer._

 _She was a Black.)_

It was a sunny morning when she spoke for the first time. The sunshine rays were bleeding through the windows, hitting the leaves outside in a mirage of color, lighting up the kitchen floor. The four sisters were eating breakfast, a combination of porridge with honey or sugar and warm, green tea. Narcissa was talking about the newest fairytale that she had read to Vulpecula and Bellatrix was doing handstands and cartwheels next to the table. Andromeda sat quietly, her gaze riveted on her younger sister, a calm and happy smile on her delicate features as she tried to get Vulpecula to open her mouth and eat some porridge.

 _(She hated the mushy food, the breastmilk, the bottle—she hated it with a passion and she wondered when she was able to chew and eat normally again.)_

"Come on, Vulpecula." Andromeda coaxed, prying open the little girl's lips with a spoonful of lukewarm porridge, "It's good for you! Dipsy made it for us and he's the best at making breakfast you know."

Bellatrix tried another cartwheel, narrowly missing the edge of the table with her left foot, making Narcissa screech.

"Bella!" The three year old squealed, "You'll hurt yourself!"

Bellatrix stuck out her tongue and made a face. "You're just jealous I can do it better than you!"

Narcissa turned a peculiar shade of red that made her look a little like a blotchy tomato and Andromeda tried to soothe their worries with a fierce look. Bellatrix just sent her a funny face and lifted her nose high in the air, as if above everything else.

It was then that Vulpecula frowned and reached for her older sister's hair. Her pudgy fist wrapped around the loose strands and tugged at the tight curls that bounced with every step Bellatrix took.

 _(In reality, she just wanted someone to save her form the porridge—she couldn't, wouldn't have any more mushy food. She needed something solid!)_

"Ow! Vulpecula! That _hurts!"_ Bellatrix cried, tears coming into her eyes as the baby pulled harder. "Ugh let go! Beasty."

"Bellatrix!" Narcissa stressed, angry tears coming into her clear blue eyes. "She's a baby. Don't be mean because our little sister is only learning. It's not fair to her, you know."

"Ugh Narcy—"Bellatrix started, forgetting the infant that was clutching her hair.

Narcissa screwed up her nose. " _Don't_ call me that!"

"—She's so weird and all she does is sleep! Like a little beast—"

"Bell. Bell. Bell." Vulpecula stuttered, a smile beginning to curl her rosebud lips. "B-Bell."

It was silent for a moment before Narcissa beamed. "She's speaking! Mummy! Vulpe's speaking!"

There was a shout of joy before Druella descended down the stairs, her normally put together chignon loosening around her shoulders, the curls that she had given to her daughters falling around the dark green gown that she was wearing. "Oh, what did she say?"

Bellatrix smiled, her cheeks flushing in joy as little Vulpe garbled the first syllables of her name again.

"Bell. Belly."

Druella smiled softly before coming down the stairs. She brushed away the little mop of curls on Vulpecula's head before bending down and pressing a soft kiss to her skin. Her baby hiccupped and Druella smiled. "My little starling, aren't you just the cutest?"

"Belly." Vulpecula uttered again, her smile becoming infectious.

 _(She could speak! Finally. Thank god.)_

"Mummy look, Vulpe's got a dimple!" Narcissa pointed out, shoving Bellatrix out of the way to get closer to her baby sister. "She's so cute!"

Druella laughed. "Your father's dimples as well. She's going to be a heartbreaker, this one. With the pretty dark curls and those eyes."

"Like me?" Bellatrix said cockily, obviously overjoyed at the fact that her sister had said _her_ name first instead of anyone else's. "She can be my protégé!"

"Bellatrix…" Andromeda giggled, tucking a loose strand of dark curls behind her ear. "She's just a baby. World domination can wait."

"Yes." Bellatrix grinned devilishly, "For now. When we're older we can take over the world together and rule everyone under an iron fist!"

Druella fixed her with a loving look and gave her oldest daughter a kiss to the crown of her head before smoothing down her hair and heading back upstairs to deal with house affairs.

Vulpecula watched her all the way with those knowing, brilliant eyes.

"Bella _trix!_ " Narcissa pouted, "She could like me more."

Her sister shook her head, the black curls flying everywhere. "No. Not possible. She said _my_ name first!"

Andromeda smiled, smoothing a thumb over her little sister's head as she sat at the dinner table listen to her sisters babble, the sun warming her face. "You're going to be so loved."

Vulpecula just blinked up at her, eyes knowing and warm.

 _(At last. At last. She had found her family. She had found her voice.)_

If her lips trembled and her eyes watered as she found her new freedom, no one noticed, far too overjoyed at her first words.

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I struggled so much writing this chapter oh my godddd. anyways, I hope you like the new update! Enjoy! Thank you for reading :)


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